The Book of Fallopians: An Audio-Video Odyssey

I totally overstated the title of this post. I hope you weren’t expecting some sort of laser light show. I just couldn’t think of anything snappy this time, because my brain is panting from exhaustion. I’ve recently giddy-upped across a new (to me) frontier, a creative hayride that’s given me ulcers, migraines, several silver hairs and a multitude of nervous disorders. It’s also expanded my already-extensive cuss word vocabulary (hit me up if you need some new ones).

Yes, I’ve slowly been twenty-first century-ing over to YouTube. I’m not good at it yet, but I hope to eventually be putting out some Blair Witch quality stuff.

This latest one, a narrated video version of “The Book of Fallopians,” only took about two-hundred and twenty days to make, and shaved six off my life. Despite the pain-in-the-assedness of the whole process, there’s something kind of gratifying about it. Maybe it’s the satisfaction that comes from having completed the damn project without smashing my laptop against the bricks on our hearth. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m experimenting with adding new dimensions to my writing, and it’s nice to have another little outlet for all the crap that crowds my brain. I’ll probably never do it again. 

I’d greatly appreciate any advice or  feedback you might have. There has to be an easier way of doing this besides the methods I used (which involved a mic, a box of Cracker Jacks, a buzzard’s nest of cables, Audacity, PowerPoint, Windows Live Movie Maker, soy milk, a CD recording device, Author Stream, Jahshaka and some Snap-On tools). Okay, okay, enough whining already. The bottom line is that I did it, and I’m proud to say that not one animal  was harmed during the making of this film. Shoot. I should have added that to the credits. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the results. Please feel free to share it with your hormone imbalanced friends and family members. Despite the griping, it really was fun. 

The Book of Fallopians

 

letter A

nd on the Eighth Day, God created hormones, and every creature that roamed the land and swam beneath water trembled, and they were afraid.

 

“Damn straight, be afraid,” saith the Lord.

 

Unaware of what God had wrought, Adam and Eve frolicked happily amongst the lilies in Garden of Eden, until Eve got PMS and that whole apple and serpent thing happened because she couldn’t think clearly enough to make rational decisions. And lo, they were banished from the Garden and they wandered.

 And Adam said unto Eve, “Behold, thou lookest as though thou art putting on a little weight.”

 

“Shut the hell up, Adam,” saith Eve, for she was bloating and cramping and anger dwelled within her heart. Then she began to bleed and she knew with all her soul that the Lord really had it in for her.

 

“Fashion ye tampons from the cotton in the fields,” saith the Lord. “And don’t forget to add a pull string.” Eve beggethed and pleadeth with God to ease her pain, and on the seventh day, her prayers were answered, for God was very busy, and it took a while to get to her request. A few thousand years later, He invented Midol, but by then she was dead and it did her no good.

 

“Be fruitful and multiply,” commanded the Lord unto Adam and to Eve. And so they fruited, which they found delightfully fun. The multiplying part, not so much.

Again, Eve prayed for God to ease her pain as she bore her offspring, and the Lord said, “No way. I’m still ticked off about the Tree of Knowledge deal.” And so it was that woman waited over 6000 years for a damned epidural.

 eve

Adam and Eve fruited more and multiplied more, as the Lord commanded. And Eve was glad. And then she was sad. Then glad again. Then homicidal. And then glad.

 

Adam looked upon the she-beast that he had donated a rib to create and asked “What the hell?” Then the Lord made beer and he was silent.

 

They begat more children who begat children, which one should not think about too much, for it is icky. But there was a lot of fruiting, for they had no television.

 

Then Adam gazed upon his wife, and asked “Why dost thou breast now sag? Why is thy hair now gray?”

 

And Eve said, “Nice beer gut, dude. ” 

 

In the darkness of her room, Eve cried, for she knew the words her husband spake were true. And in the light of day she also cried, and in the morning when she arose, and as the sun shone above her head and when it lowered, and when the moon glowed high from the heavens and also when it rained. For Eve was menopausal, and the shit was hitting the fan.

 

And the Lord visited Eve and said, “Listen. I was just sort of making all this up as I went along. I’m sorry about the periods and the cramps and the pain of childbirth. I’m sorry about morning sickness and water weight gain and PMS.  I’ve decided to turn the faucet off now. No more hormones shall course within thy body. No eggs shall incubate within thy womb. Scout’s honor–no more bleeding and no more cramps.”

 

“But you’ve also removed my beauty, my youth, my sexual magnetism. You’ve diminished my love of fruiting, and I can no longer multiply,” said Eve.

 

“Oh,” saith the Lord. “Oops. Well, here, have some wisdom instead. And this pot roast recipe.”

 

And through her newly begotten wisdom, Eve realized that she was stronger than any man who walked the Earth and any plague visited upon a naughty people, for though she was a little on the puny side, she could endure PMS and menstrual cramps, labor pains, hot flashes and football season. And when He got around to it, God invented bioidentical hormones and chocolate, which really helped a lot.

And for the rest of her days, Eve was beloved by her children and grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren and their children after them, for people lived a really long time back then. And though she had changed, to Adam she was still pretty hot.

And it was good in the eyes of the Lord.

 

Update:  Here’s a link to an audio version of “The Book of Fallopians.” You know, in case reading it yourself just wasn’t enough. 

I’m Back, She’s Back, His Back

The best hug ever.

My daughter and the Pea reunite after 8 weeks.

There’s been so much happening around here lately. It’s as if a bee and a one-armed paper hanger mated and produced a dam-building beaver. Seriously busy. The Pea turned three, then we had Christmas, immediately followed by Amadeus’ birthday, then New Years Eve. My ex-husband remarried, which caused quite a commotion, and my daughter went off to Basic Training at Lackland Air Force Base for eight weeks. Amadeus and I took up some of the slack, chasing the Pea and playing games, singing songs, reading books and tucking her bright and tiny personage into bed at night. Her father is very much a part of her life, and we were both impressed and thankful at how well he cared for her while Mommy was learning to kick ass in Texas.

I returned a few days ago from her graduation in San Antonio. Amadeus had planned to go with me, but he came down with the flu and we decided it was best for him to stay home. It was the first time we’d been apart since, well–ever. I had separation anxiety something awful. It felt as though I’d left my left arm behind, with my purse and cell phone attached.

Still, it was a fun and action-packed week. Baby Daddy, Pea and I rented a car and drove for what seemed a hundred hours, and for a few days we were a part of Lackland, which is sort of like Disneyland without the rides, the enchantment or the fun. Actually, it was pretty exciting. I wouldn’t have traded seeing my daughter and her daughter (the Pea) reunite for anything in this world. It was beautiful and tearful and oh-so-happy. My daughter got a weekend pass and she was able to undo her severe little bun and take a solo shower at the hotel–the first thing she’d been able to do alone since her arrival in Texas two months before. At basic training, recruits aren’t allowed to eat or breathe or pee by themselves. They also stay incredibly sleep-deprived.

I was surprised at how herself she still was, the way she’d gone through the entire experience with her gorgeous, shiny personality still intact. At the same time, she was abiding by a huge new set of rules, especially when in public–the wearing of the starchy blue uniform, the hat pinned in place, the salutes and the strict curfews and the flashlight that she had to carry on the way back to her dorm. She took us to an NBA game one night (go Spurs), and I couldn’t believe how many people walked up and congratulated her, thanking her for what she’d done. She was a little embarrassed by the attention, especially when the announcer asked all of the military people in the audience to stand and be recognized. I’m amazed by the woman she’s become, by her confidence and the fact that she’s ready and willing to do what it takes to defend our freedom. Hell, I got lost trying to buy her some cotton candy that night.

We were there for five jam-packed days. There was a parade and a coin ceremony and a graduation. My ex-husband came with his new wife and step-daughter and their hotel room was five doors down from ours. The Pea wore a snazzy bath towel cape and flew between our rooms, until she conked out from exhaustion. We adults hung out and drank wine and talked late into the night. My ex’s new wife is sweet and rather fascinating, and I’m truly happy for the two of them. It felt as though we were all old friends, and it was just so nice.

We drank gallons of coffee and ate at a gajillion restaurants and by the end of the week I was so full that I was ordering appetizers instead of entrees. We took the Pea to SeaWorld and cruised the San Antonio River Walk. The downtown area was a wondrous mosaic of palm trees, colorful old architecture, bustling people and streets made of brick. Amid the traffic were trolleys and carriages, Segways, bikes and pedicabs. It was peaceful and harried all at once, and it made my heart and eyeballs very happy.

Throughout it all, I felt this background longing, missing Amadeus’ presence and wishing he’d been there. We all missed him. Despite the fun, there was a hole in the fabric of the celebration. My daughter bought him a cheesy t-shirt that said, “Proud Air Force Step-Dad,” which almost made me cry. I love the fact that she loves my husband, that she considers him her family, and vice versa. He’s as impressed by her accomplishments as I am. I’m also pretty delighted that the new step-mom is so swell. My children and the Grandpea have a new loved one.

The festivities were fun, but I was excited to return to our home sweet home. In my mind, I saw my sweetie standing in the doorway in anticipation, or the two of us running toward each other across the driveway to greet each other, like lovers running in slow motion across a field of daisies in the movies. Instead, I found him laid out on the sofa like a slab of ham. He’d finally gotten over the flu, and had planned to surprise me while I was gone. He’d bought a beautiful rug for the living room, hung a pretty shelf and a new towel rack in the bathroom. He’d even gotten another new rug for the kitchen floor. His next task was to rearrange the living room furniture, but he has a stupid and unfortunate condition called Spondylolisthesis (which hurts to even say), and when he bent to move a chair, he wrecked his poor back, a few short hours before I returned. He didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to worry. So, instead of our anticipated hugs and kisses and squeezes, we instead squeezed him into the car and made an emergency run to the doctor for an exam and some meds. He’s been in ham slab position for a week now. Oh, the joys of middle age. We’re sexy as hell in our brains, bent and achy in our bodies. Did I mention that we joined AARP?

The same day we returned from our road trip, my daughter flew home from Lackland, and my sister and her family arrived from Nashville to celebrate her achievement. Amadeus had been eagerly looking forward to all of it, but was so incapacitated he could barely move. Weeks earlier, he’d bought basketball tickets for himself and my brother-in-law–perfect, center court seats–but there was just no way he could go. My sister and I put together a small “welcome home” party for my daughter one night, and Amadeus attended for a while, sporting his new t-shirt, but he was miserable and we left early. As I write this, days later, he’s on the sofa with a heating pad in a mild Hydrocodone fog. He thinks my name is Janelle and that we live in Argentina. My poor baby.

Anyway, everyone’s left, and things are almost back to normal. It’s been a whirlwindy couple of months. In between all of these life changes and celebrations, I’ve been writing like a madwoman. I just published a new story, finished up some essays and I’ve started a novel. I’ll tell you about all of it soon, but I’m going to end this little update and check on Amadeus.

Love,
Janelle